


The Crimson Comet

by FalconFate



Series: Voltron: The Horse!AU [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: #lifetip, Do not approach, Horses, M/M, The klance is subtle, arabian horse, cute horse names, don't take this seriously, horse feelings, horse people, horse people are crazy, horse slang, horse!au, horse!blue lion, horse!red lion, i guess, i think, if a horse is being as mareish as this one, implied/referenced horse cruelty, like this is a precursor, racehorses, slight racism, super subtle tho, the kind that made me leave one of my previous barns, thoroughbred horse, uhhh what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 02:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconFate/pseuds/FalconFate
Summary: Lance wants to know how Keith gets along so well with his horse, when she seems so indifferent to him—and every other human being on the farm.Horse!au. You have been warned.





	The Crimson Comet

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo I have had a lot of horse-feels these past couple weeks. Long story short, my horse is both a brat and a gem. Please enjoy my feelings that have been pressed into these words!

When Lance went to Bluebell’s stall one lovely Tuesday morning, ready to ride, he found Keith sweeping the floor where he’d had Red standing in the aisle. The chestnut herself had stuck her long face out over her door, and was watching Keith’s movements carefully.

Lance suppressed a laugh as Keith got too close to his mare’s stall, and Red stretched her neck to bump his shoulder with her nose, nickering playfully. Keith himself had no such reservations about chuckling quietly, and gave Red’s nose a gentle rub.

“Listen,” said Lance, breaking the silence, “I know we’re rivals and all, but you’re really good with her.”

Keith whipped around, his face nearly as red as his mare’s. “I— um. Thanks.”

Lance shrugged, turning to Blue. Then he turned back, annoyed with himself for starting on this train of thought. “Although, now I feel I have to ask how you got so close with her.”

Blue stuck her own nose over her stall door now, as if she, too, were curious. Her chin rested on Lance’s shoulder, and her untrimmed whiskers tickled his ear. He petted her nose, waiting for Keith to begin the (surely epic) saga that was his bonding with Red.

Keith seemed not to understand at first. “You… you want to know how I bonded with my horse.”

“Yup.”

“You seem to have bonded pretty well with Bluebell. You’re not looking for tips, are you?”

Offended, Lance frowned. “What?! Dude, no, Blue and I have bonded _so hard_. We’re literally inseparable. I’m just curious, man, she’s indifferent about everyone but you!”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Keith laughed, raising his hands in surrender—still holding the broom in one hand. “I was making a joke.”

“The Mulleted Man can make a joke,” Lance mused.

“Do you really want to hear the story?”

“Of course, man.”

“...alright. So, back when he was still eventing, Shiro really wanted me to have someone to school cross-country with, so that he’d have a buddy, and none of the lesson horses here could do that. As a result, he offered to take me horse shopping. One of his Facebook horse-shopping gurus gave him a lead to a cheap horse, who was apparently excellent, and needed to be sold ASAP. He was seeing a lot of red flags— _no_ , Lance, pun _not_ intended—but we decided to check it out…”

* * *

The ranch was gorgeous. Keith’s eyes couldn’t stay still and look at one thing; everything was neat, orderly, clean, and _matching_ , everything was black, with trims of purple, red, or green. Who had the _time_ for _matching buildings?!_ Especially over such a large piece of property.

Shiro, however, was frowning at the ranch, and the workhands scattered over the property. “Don’t be too charmed by the pretty exterior, Keith,” he warned.

“Yeah, yeah, and ‘don’t get attached before you even see the horse, Keith.’ Right?” Keith guessed, smirking at the exasperated glance Shiro threw him.

Even Keith could admit, though, the ad for this horse was flaky. It was fishy.

It was… suspicious.

Those were all three words amongst the dozens that Shiro had used to describe the ad. The mare in question, Crimson Comet, was an off-the-track thoroughbred mare, who’d won over 50k in her three racing years—which even Keith could admit was impressive, despite his general dislike of the racing industry. Comet had a good pedigree, too, and in the pictures Keith had found, she looked really well-put-together. Even Shiro, as soon as he saw the pictures, said she’d be perfect eventing material—until he saw her pricing.

And she was for sale for less than one hundred dollars.

Outside one of the barns with red trim stood a squat little man, with a receding hairline that allowed the sun to reflect weirdly off of his sweaty forehead. He waved Shiro over, and Keith tried to ignore the man’s wrinkled nose towards their _perfectly nice_ trailer.

“Mr. Shirogane and Mr. Kogane, I assume?” the little man asked them as they hopped out of the truck. Shiro offered his gloved right hand.

“That’s us. This is Keith, you can call me Shiro.”

The little man frowned at the hand, but shook it once, gingerly, and then wiped said hand on his trousers un-subtly. Keith decided _not_ to offer his own hand. He had his helmet under one arm, anyway. “My name is Reginald Morvok. I’m the steward and head of security for Empire Stables. And, I know you came here for the b– sorry, the _Comet_ , but if she doesn’t suit your needs we do have a few other good horses for sale.”

Shiro smiled tightly. “I’m sure we’ll be out of your hair very quickly, Mr. Morvok.”

Keith stifled a laugh as the little man reddened slightly, but Shiro’s possible-jab at his hair was too easily a coincidence to take offensive action towards.

At length, Morvok puffed himself up and gestured inside. “Right this way, gentlemen.”

He led them into the barn, and down a freshly-swept aisle. Keith frowned at the stalls, a little spooked by their stark emptiness. There were only horses at the far end, and that only three: two bays in the stalls on the left, one with a star on its forehead, and one chestnut on the right. There were also two grooms waiting by the stalls. As Morvok stopped, and gestured towards the chestnut, Keith took a moment to really assess the situation.

Both grooms had hastily-straightened, matching white shirts, but one of them had a tear in his sleeve. They also both had little green and brown stains over their shirts. One of them limped slightly as he approached the chestnut’s stall, and he had a faded hoofprint on his favored leg. The chestnut in the stall, on her part, hadn’t stopped moving since Keith had come into earshot of her snorts and pacing. As the grooms approached, her movements became more erratic, even slightly panicked. It clearly made the other two thoroughbreds anxious, as one of them whinnied, while the other pawed the bedding in her stall.

Shiro pressed a hand to his shoulder, moving them both back slightly, as the grooms wrestled the mare into a halter and led her out of her stall. Sure enough, it was Crimson Comet’s color, markings and conformation that stepped out of the stall, fighting the grooms at every step, and fidgeting once they got her on the cross-ties.

Morvok looked a little smug at Shiro’s caution. “Well, this is our Comet. She’s a bit temperamental. We believe she got too attached to her first jockey, as she became a little bit of a… a _rascal_ , shall we say, when we switched her jockey for the first time.”

Shiro smiled that same tight smile, his grip on Keith’s shoulder becoming a little tighter. “Well, how is she under saddle?”

Morvok shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen her ridden since her first jockey; her new one trains her in the shift I don’t watch. You’re certainly welcome to try her out, if you’d wish. Her tack is all in that room, next to her stall.”

Keith took one look at Shiro’s face, and decided to speak before he missed his chance. “I’d love to take her for a trial lap around whatever arena is free, Mr. Morvok.”

The little man raised an eyebrow, clearly not having expected his offer to be taken up. “...very well, then. Manuel, Rodrigo, get to it.”

One of the grooms opened his mouth, but the other shushed him and tugged him towards the tack room. With terrifyingly quick efficiency, even moving around Comet’s bites and tossing head, they gave her a quick brush-down, and had her saddled and bridled in under five minutes. Keith pulled his helmet out of its bag, handed Shiro the bag, and pressed the helmet down on his head, clasping the chin-strap and pulling his hair into a ponytail beneath it. Before one of the grooms could lead the mare out the door, he held out his hand for the reins, saying, “I can take her. Where are we going?”

Both grooms exchanged a glance, before they both shrugged and handed him the reins. One pointed to a fenced-in area of footing. “That’s the arena in this sector. There’s a mounting block right next to the barn door.”

Keith thanked him, and led the mare out. She pranced a little bit, unsure of herself, unsure of Keith, unsure of the four men following her. He ignored it, leading her confidently to the mounting block.

Comet did _not_ like the mounting block. She danced away from it when Keith put even one foot on it, performing excellent turns on her forehand, but forgoing Keith’s attempts to get into the saddle.

After the fourth try, a small crowd of grooms and jockeys was gathering. By the fifth, Keith gave up on the mounting block, ignoring Shiro’s muttered, “It’s not too late to say no.” He led her straight into the arena instead, stopping her near the middle and pulling the reins over her head.

Gathering the reins into his left hand, and holding on to the pommel and the cantle of the saddle, Keith took a deep breath. And then he jumped, as high as he could, pulling himself swiftly into the saddle, trying to land in the seat as gently as possible—even so, Comet danced forward, surprised. He ignored the rising hum of the murmuring spectators, crossing his stirrups before he nudged the mare onward.

As he expected, she very nearly jumped forward, straight into a working trot. He let the reins slide beneath his fingers, shifting his weight back a little; to his relief, the mare slowed down to a power-walk. Keith guided her, with the reins against her neck, onto a large circle.

He let her stretch her legs for a minute, and then nudged her gently back into the trot. She didn’t seem quite as anxious, now, although she tossed her head whenever the watching jockeys came into her line of sight. After a few simple patterns, Keith asked for the canter, still only loosely holding the reins; at her smooth, unanxious transition to the left lead, he got a few quiet, hastily-killed cheers from his audience. The right lead got the same treatment.

Keith was smiling as he cooled her out, and even Shiro didn’t have his previous grumpy mask. _Dare I think it,_ Keith said to himself, _he even looks **excited**._

Morvok, on the other hand, was practically purple. As Keith led her past the gate, the little man seemed to be pressing his words through clenched teeth as he said, “You handle her very well, Mr. Kogane.”

“She’s a good ride,” Keith answered. He was still smiling.

“If you want her,” another voice declared, “she’s yours. Absolutely free. You can even take her fancy halters, they’re personalized.” A slight-built Asian woman with a sharp-cut bob made her way towards Keith and Comet, ignoring the crowd that parted before her. She smirked at Keith’s awestruck expression. “I’m one of the owners of the ranch. I also happen to own all of the horses in this sector—except Comet, if you so choose.”

“No loopholes?” Keith asked warily.

“No loopholes, no mortgage, no favors,” the woman confirmed. “Well, I mean, it’s a little bit of a favor that you’re taking her off of our hands. She’s just a temperamental waste of space at this point. Point is, we don’t want her, she wants you, and it seems like you want her. Shipping boots are waiting outside her stall.”

Keith shot Shiro a hopeful look. The older rider raised a dubious eyebrow, but shrugged and nodded. “Probably never going to get a deal as good as this,” he said. “She seems to really like you.”

“Then we’ll take her,” Keith decided.

The woman grinned. “Excellent. Miguel, Rodriguez, go clean yourselves up.” The grooms who had handled Comet nodded and turned to go, but not before both shooting Morvok their own nasty looks. The woman didn’t miss it, and she continued with a toothy smile, “Reginald, why don’t you help these lovely gentlemen load Comet onto the trailer? Unless you have something more important to do.”

Morvok was _definitely_ purple by this point. “Of course, I will assist.”

The woman gave a satisfied little nod. “Perfect. And, one more thing before I go—use the money you saved up to buy her to properly fit her a saddle instead.” With that, she gave them a little salute, and strode away. The crowd took that as their cue to trickle away, until only Shiro, Morvok, and Keith and Comet were left.

The mare was certainly a hell of a lot calmer untacking than she had been tacking up. Part of it, Keith figured, was that he hadn’t put her on the crossties; he trusted her to stand quietly as he unsaddled her, and he let the leadrope rest over her shoulder when he put her shipping halter on. She wouldn’t let Morvok near her, pinning her ears whenever he came close, but she let Shiro and Keith wrap her legs in the thick-padded shipping boots without a fuss.

Before he left them, he unceremoniously dumped at least five brightly colored halters on the ground in front of the mare, saying, “I’m needed in another sector. I assume you can take it from here?”

Without waiting for their answer, he hurried away. “Typical,” Shiro snorted. He picked up the halters. “Oh, she was right. They _are_ personalized.”

“They’re all red and black, too,” Keith noted with a small laugh.

“No wonder she likes you,” Shiro teased, “she’s just you in horse form! Angsty, with a dichrome wardrobe.”

“Hey, at least mine is _di_ chrome,” Keith shot back as he lead the mare— _his_ mare—out to their trailer.

She loaded easily, following Keith’s direction with the most laid-back horse expression he’d ever seen: ears flopping loosely with each bob of her head, neck stretched long and low, steps relaxed and unhurried. As Shiro closed up the trailer behind her, Keith met her in the open area at the front of the trailer, unclipping the lead from her halter, attaching the breakaway strap to her halter, and then hanging the hay bag that had been waiting for her by her stall. She began munching happily, but didn’t let Keith leave without a nudge at his shoulder.

He looked at her, surprised. Something protective curled tightly in his chest at the intense _look_ she gave him, like she was trying to tell him something.

Like she was trying to say _thank you_.

He smiled at her. Then, a thought occured to him. “You know,” he said, “ _Crimson Comet_ is a bit of a mouthful, and a bit too formal for where we’re going. How do you like the name Red?”

The mare tossed her head gently, as if saying _I like that very much,_ before returning to munching on her hay. Keith grinned as he stepped out of the trailer and closed it up.

Shiro gave him an indecipherable look as he hopped into the cab of the truck. “You really like that horse, don’t you. Are you going to keep her name?”

“Nah,” Keith replied, pulling his hair out of its ponytail. “She likes the name Red.”

* * *

As he finished his story, Keith turned his attention to Red again, scratching gently behind one ear, and stroking her long face with his free hand. “And that’s how we became inseparable, huh?” he murmured, just loud enough for Lance to hear—the voice Keith used with Red was always so… happy. Unlike when he spoke with Lance, when he was usually teasing, or arguing, or scolding, or… generally, just not being pleasant.

But then Lance’s brain caught up with him. “Wait—so, hang on, _Red_ is the _Crimson Comet?!_ ”

“Uh. She was?”

“Dude, she got my niece and nephew into the horse world!” Lance exclaimed. “They saw the Crimson Comet racing on TV and were _obsessed_ from that point on. Specifically with the Comet, ’cause she had a pseudo-Secretariat win. I mean, they hadn’t met Bluebell at that point, but they _really_ wanted to meet Bluebell after watching her race.”

Keith’s eyebrows disappeared behind his fringe. “You’re kidding. They saw Red on TV?”

“Yeah! Hey… some of my family might come up to meet Bluebell, if they visit in the near future. Do you think Red would mind if my niece and nephew took a picture with her?”

Red and Keith looked at each other. After a long moment, Keith shrugged, not breaking eye contact with the mare. “I think she’d be fine. If they behave themselves.”

“Oh, absolutely. I’m their favorite uncle, they listen to me _without fail_. You’ll see,” Lance told him, grinning.

* * *

A few weeks later, Lance’s family _did_ come and visit—his mamí, his oldest sister Chloe, her husband Markus, and their two kids, Valory and Victor. Lance had told them a while ago that _the Crimson Comet was in the same place as Bluebell_ , and their excitement was uncontainable.

But Red didn’t seem to mind. She was very curious about the two tiny humans that approached her with awe, and then proceeded to run their hands over as much leg, shoulder, neck and head as they could reach. Keith stood by with the lead held loosely in one hand, apparently unconcerned with the children running wild around his horse (this was a façade. He was terrified that they’d accidentally poke Red’s ‘eject’ button and get themselves kicked to the literal curb of the gravel parking lot).

And when their father called for photos, Red posed and looked towards the camera without prompting, ears pricked forward, unmoving as first the kids posed next to her, and then made silly faces; completely still as Lance brought Bluebell into the frame (the Arab also posed, but was looking at Red instead of the camera) and the two women entered the picture; and only flicking one ear as Lance pulled Keith into a one-armed hug.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! That was 3k exactly. Haven't written that much in so little time in... ages.
> 
> I'm going to be putting vocab here. I mean, if you're even reading this at all, there's a good chance you are a horse person and know all of these terms, but there's also a pretty good chance that you were curious about one of the tags, or the title, or something, and decided to take a look. So!
> 
> Stall: the American term for the horse's... room, I guess? Some barns have them, some barns don't; some horses like them, some horses don't. The European term is 'box.'  
> Aisle: Hopefully obvious; it's the hallway down the center of a stable between the stalls.  
> Crosstie/s: Usually spaced evenly (but wiiiidely) down an aisle. Two ropes or chains that are attached to the wall, hopefully by baling twine, that have clips to attach to your horse's halter. This is to make sure your horse won't wander off while you're messing with them on the ground.  
> Chestnut: A horse color. The horse equivalent of redhead (not just in color, but in stereotypical temperament. If you ever hear "CHESTNUT MARE!" at a farm, //hide//)  
> Nicker: A quiet horse noise, very gentle and sweet and cute. Basically they're way of saying, "hi," "just checking in," "haha,"  
> Eventing: a style of competition, with three parts (basically a triathalon); dressage, stadium jumping (in a ring), and cross country (jumping in a field or on a trail).  
> "School cross-country": you take your horse out to a cross country field, and go over obstacles you wouldn't see in an arena.  
> Mare: adult female horse  
> Off-the-track-thoroughbred (sometimes OTTT): a racehorse who's doing something else  
> Pedigree: family tree. some people get really worked up about this kind of thing.  
> Bay: a horse color; brown-bodied, with black legs, mane, tail, and nose  
> Star: a face marking; a small white patch high on the forehead  
> Groom: someone hired to clean, care for, tack/untack horses.  
> Bedding: the stuff in a stall to make the floor padded and comfy  
> Jockey: racehorse rider.  
> "Under saddle": when the horse is being ridden  
> Tack: Bridle, saddle, etc.  
> Reins: those long things attached to the horse's bit. meant to steer, but not meant to be overused.  
> "Turns on the forehand": when they make a circle, but don't move their front feet out of a small area  
> Pommel: front of a saddle  
> Cantle: Back of a saddle  
> Seat: center of a saddle  
> *Twist: this wasn't in the story, but this is the bit between the seat and the pommel  
> "Crossing stirrups": when you cross your stirrups over your horse's neck so you're no longer using them, and they don't bang against the horse's sides or your legs  
> "Vaulting into the saddle": this is what Keith did, getting into the saddle without help. I've done it once in my life. It's difficult. And thoroughbreds are usually very tall.  
> Working trot: a trot with lots of forward energy  
> Transition: changing gates (ex: halt to walk, walk to trot, canter to trot, etc.)  
> Shipping boots: padded boots used for travel  
> "Fit a saddle": this is when you hire someone to get your horse's measurements, and then fit a saddle to those measurements. Important, because a bad saddle can have disastrous consequences  
> Shipping halter: a very comfy halter, often made of fine leather or padded with fleece  
> Conformation: how the horse is put together physically. Also called the physiology.
> 
> I think I caught everything.  
> I hope you enjoyed this! There will be more to come!  
> As always, comments and kudos are much appreciated!


End file.
